


in this new year and out of tune

by mydearmoon



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Light Angst, Parent Rio (Good Girls), Soft Rio (Good Girls)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:48:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28815882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydearmoon/pseuds/mydearmoon
Summary: It's after the holidays and SoftRio is soft.
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Comments: 13
Kudos: 73





	in this new year and out of tune

Thing is, as fucked up as things are between ‘em, as toxic as bein’ in business together is, they’ve  _ managed _ . 

Elizabeth has stopped tryin’ to find ways to get him killed off. Rio’s stopped returning with threats to do the same. Even went all soft and returned her belongings after a few months (it helped that she stopped naggin’ him about it). She still sounds off her mouth and treats her opinion like it’s fuckin’ gold, but she’s also started to _listen_ , to pay attention to what Rio tells her. Finally recognizing that they don’t gotta like each other, but she’s gotta _respect_ that he’s the expert in this world, that his knowledge and instincts are somethin’ she don’t have. 

Yet. He’s recognizing she’s a good learner, too. 

They still irritate the shit out of each other, but it’s accepted as _part of the process_ , in the same way that soft murmurs in her ear or a light touch at her waist are no longer part of their routine. He won’t allow it. 

So yeah, they’ve managed and are bringin’ in good money. Even though nothin’ about Rio and Elizabeth is healthy, it just  _ is  _ and it ain’t anyone’s business why Rio chooses to deal with her the way he does (no matter how much side-eye and shit talk that Mick gives him). 

But just because they’ve come to some sort of agreement or truce or whatever one wants to call it in the last year, doesn’t mean she’s earned free reign. Which is why it’s a Thursday morning and even though Rio’s got no reason to drop in at the Boland household, he’s still parked a few houses away. 

It’s important to keep her... _ unsettled _ . Consider it a free lesson. Getting comfortable means getting careless, and careless gives way to mistakes, and mistakes lead to messes, and Rio’s seen how she handles her messes. 

She doesn’t. 

So, he slides out of his car, readjusts the gun tucked at his waist, walks ‘round the yard, and lets himself in easily in through the side door. Elizabeth is in the living room and doesn’t clock his presence (he holds in a disappointed sigh, he’s really gotta get her to pay better attention to her surroundings). Even though it’s mid January and Christmas is long over, the evidence of the holidays is still draped across every available surface. Tons of that tinsel shit, tacky garlands of silver and gold weave through the banister and frame each the doorway. Paper snowflakes are taped to the windows, placed at a conspicuously low height, which lets him know they were put up by small human hands, stretchin’ best as they could. His hunch is confirmed when he spots the large “BY JANE” and more careful “by Emma” scrawled in blue marker on a couple of ‘em. 

Haphazardly assembled structures made of popsicle sticks are placed on bookshelves and side tables, each painted green and red, with a shitload of glitter. The fireplace mantel is lined with snowmen figurines. A  _ lot _ of snowmen. In all sizes and posed in various winter sceneries. 

He can’t help the smirk that pulls across his face. No matter how deep she gets into criminal elements, Elizabeth’s life remains rooted in that suburban housewife hell. 

Still completely unaware that Rio is in her home. Elizabeth is standing in front of an over-decorated, plastic Christmas tree that’s seen better days. She’s fastidiously wrapping each ornament before placing it at the box by her feet. Seeing her surrounded by this holiday eyesore really makes him regret returning all her shit. Like maybe he shoulda _conveniently misplaced_ a few boxes (lit ‘em on fire), especially the ones neatly labeled “Holiday” that contained things like the garish ornament that is currently in her hands. ‘Cause damn...once you see it, you can’t unsee it. It’s a neon green llama wearing a tie dyed Santa hat. 

But Elizabeth must find all this magical or some shit, because even as he approaches closer, she remains lost in her own world. And even though the state of this house is Rio’s absolute nightmare, watchin’ her carefully packin’ away an ornament that can’t be more than a few dollars like it’s a priceless heirloom is...nice. In a way. 

Whatever. 

And besides, she’s wearin’ that blue sweater he likes, the one that’s just short enough that when she reaches for another ornament, it lifts and exposes a small area of soft skin, just above her hip. 

Rio is aware of the impulse to reach out and let his fingers graze across the exposed skin, to catch his fingers under the hem and sneak his hand under, to splay an open palm over her stomach and pull her against him. He immediately pushes the thoughts aside and shoves his hands deep in his coat pockets instead. 

He lets his voice punctuate the air, “Ma, that’s some  _ ugly _ ass shit,” 

Elizabeth’s head snaps up, startled. Her eyes attempt to focus on his own, but he sees they are still caught in whatever far off place she’d been in before his arrival. Her lips part and Rio leans his head back slightly, awaiting the stubborn defensiveness she’s sure to shoot back with. 

So it catches Rio by surprise when a short laugh escapes her lips instead. She turns her gaze back down at the neon horror, studying it affectionately. 

“Danny gave this to me two Christmases ago,”

Rio takes a few silent steps in her direction, standing in that too close way that he knows throws her off, but is still careful to  _ not _ touch ‘cause he don’t mess with that shit anymore. Removing his hands from his pockets, he reaches out and picks off an ornament that is particularly offensive. 

Holding it up, Rio arches his brow, “Forreal?” 

Elizabeth looks at Rio squarely, hardened resolve now replacing the previous softness in her eyes. She takes the decoration from him, and he notes the way her fingers bump into his briefly, and wonders if it was intentional or not. 

She clutches it to her chest, “Jane picked this one out last year.”

He cocks his head to the side incredulously, “Darlin’, it’s a baby Jesus wearin’ a Chrismas vest. Sittin’ in Santa’s sleigh. Gettin’ pulled by Rudolph. That’s just straight up blasphemous.” 

“Jane loves it.” Elizabeth loosens her grip a little and bends her head over the item, like it’s actually precious or somethin’. Her hair falls over her face, and if this had been another place in time, Rio woulda pushed her hair back, tucked the escaped locks behind her ear. 

But it’s different now, so he doesn’t. 

“It means something _to me_ ,” she finally declares, lifting her head up. 

Rio doesn’t say anything, and Elizabeth’s eyes narrow. 

“Don’t you have anything special that Marcus has given you?” 

Rio remains silent and starts to circle the Christmas tree in search of the next worst ornament. 

Elizabeth’s voice follows him, “Wait, let me guess...Your tree is decorated with a minimalist design aesthetic? White and grey ornaments only, and absolutely no sparkle?” 

She must find delight in this because she quickly adds “Oh, I know, you don’t  _ do _ Christmas and don’t bother with a tree.”

A glance back at her and she’s lookin’  _ real _ proud of herself for what she must consider was a good comeback. 

But shit, her comment unexpectedly drags a tight line across his chest, connecting the scars that she created not too long ago. 

Because, he  _ does _ do things for Christmas. Fair, he doesn’t bother with a tree. But he’s got traditions. 

And they mean something _to him_. 

\--

There’s the first weekend of December. He and Marcus take their family-of-two photos. It started as just some joke selfies that Rio took with a then-baby Marcus, upon the persistent requests of Rio’s mother. She was always anglin’ for more, more, more pictures of her baby grandson, wanted to show ‘em off to the ladies at her church. So sure, he’d put on his maroon sweater, dressed Marcus in a red onesie, and snapped a few selfies.

Unfortunately for Rio, his mother then demanded new holiday photos every goddamn year. 

And who’s he to disappoint his ma, a’ight? 

As Marcus has grown older, more thought and planning has been put into those photos. Now, he lets Marcus pick what they wear and where to pose. Uploads it to some website to get their photo printed on a mug, and gifts one to each set of grandparents. It gets all the grandmas sobbin’ and lovin’ on their grandson. Marcus revels in the attention.

\--

There’s the night before Christmas Eve. The night of the 23rd, they eat pizza and stay up way too late, watchin’ Home Alone. Marcus demands hearin’ about how as a child, Rio and his cousins had watched the movie in theaters and immediately tried to boobytrap their uncle’s house. Without fail, Marcus falls over with laughter when Rio gets to the part of how he and his cousin Pedro tried to use a lighter to heat up a door knob, red hot. It didn’t work at all of course, and when Uncle Jaime caught ‘em, the punishment was to scrub each bathroom clean with a toothbrush, no lie. A  _ toothbrush _ . 

After Marcus goes to sleep, Rio stays up and fills a stocking with things he knows Marcus will love. This last year was a mini LEGO set, some slime, a bag of peanut M&Ms, and a magnifying glass. Ever since Marcus read a book about dinosaurs, he’d been on the hunt for fossils (“What if I find a dinosaur _here_ , Dad?” was Marcus’s latest dream). As Marcus studied each rock that he brought home from the park, he’d remarked how a real magnifying glass would  _ definitely _ help him be a  _ much better _ paleontologist. 

Rio carefully, quietly hangs the stocking at Marcus’s headboard and when morning arrives, he’s greeted with the happy shouts of Marcus exclaiming about all the awesome, awesome things that Santa’s left for him. 

\--

There’s the morning of Christmas Eve. They drive out to RIo’s parents’ house. Ever since he was a kid, his extended family always comes together and spends the morning making tamales,  _ hundreds of ‘em _ , it feels like. 

Some years ago, when his widowed grandfather met his now-wife at the senior center, the family happily invited her into their family tradition. Grace, second generation Chinese-American was completely delighted and picked up his aunt’s instructions quickly. One year, Grace showed ‘em all how to make lo mai gai, introducing it to the family as a sorta Chinese version of a tamale, and that became part of their family tradition, too. 

Spending time surrounded by family members making tamales and others making lo mai gai, tradin’ stories and laughin’ over who had made the ugliest tamale (it was Rio, it was always Rio. He just never got the hang of wrappin' 'em) was a tradition that felt uniquely  _ theirs _ . It was something he was  _ proud _ to be given’ to Marcus. 

Later in the evening, he drives Marcus over to Rhea’s and he loves their time in the car, too. The way his son excitedly recounts  _ every  _ possible detail of the day’s events as if Rio hadn't been there is a _just-the-two-of-them_ moment he looks forward to every year. 

\--

There’s Christmas morning. Rio spends it with his parents at Mass. Their family grew up goin’ to church every Sunday, but when Rio was sixteen - too smart for his own good and a complete little shit - he announced smugly to his family that he did not believe in God and sure as hell didn’t agree with organized religion. 

He remembers that day clearly: He was ridin’ high on Maria Santos, the hottest girl in the tenth grade, agreein’ to go out with him to a movie, so he was feelin’  _ good _ . 

After Rio finished sayin’ his piece, his father simply shrugged and went back to reading his novel, not in the mood to start anything. His older sisters rolled their eyes, with Alejandra grinning big. She dramatically mouthed “You. Are.  _ So _ . Dead!” while expectantly eyeing their mother. 

His mother set her jaw and narrowed her eyes. 

“Fine,” she finally said through gritted teeth. 

“That’s it?” teenaged Rio had been ready for a fight.

“You’re a young man, you can make this decision for yourself. But you’re still coming to Christmas Mass. That’s our  _ family _ time.” 

His ma stressed the word  _ family _ in a way that let Rio know there wasn’t any sense in arguin’. So, he didn’t. And even now, a grown man in his thirties, he dutifully attends mass with his parents every morning on December 25th whenever he can. Has only missed it three or four times. Look, he loves his parents and it’s an easy way to make ‘em happy. 

\--

So Elizabeth is wrong. He’s got his Christmas traditions. And if she had been a better shot, had emptied the clip, hadn’t been afraid of her hitman, he wouldn’t have been around for any of it. 

  
But it ain’t none of her business what he does, so he just says a noncommittal, “Right.”

She looks at him strangely, like she doesn’t believe him. But that ain’t Rio’s concern, they don’t need to know the details of each other’s lives. This is just business.

Still, Rio takes a step away from her, from her hideous tree, and rubs at the irritating knot that now sits at the base of his neck. Elizabeth is staring at his hand, at the way his fingers knead and push over his skin. He considers saying something snarky, when he notices that quiet softness has returned to her eyes.

“Our next Christmas is going to be different,” her voice is strained, like the words she says sound new and strange to her, too. “Dean and I are divorcing. We haven’t told the kids yet, so...” 

She bites her lip and breaks her eyes away from him. Kneeling down abruptly, she returns to removing ornaments within arms reach, wrapping them delicately in tissue paper. Rio watches her deliberate, considered motions, and he’s reminded of the way his family gathers in his parents’ brightly lit, warm kitchen every Christmas Eve, the unexpected smells of cultures colliding, the way they generously fill and wrap their corn husk and lotus leaves. 

Fuck, man. That idiot husband of hers may be a complete ass, and kids can get over shit like that, but it’s still a loss. And he’s not a complete monster. They don’t know that much of each others’ lives, but Rio can do the math. He knows her entire adult life was formed with this dickhead, and likely most of her older teenage years, from what he gathers. 

Filling in the details of Elizabeth’s life  _ complicates _ things between ‘em. It’s unnecessary and bad for business. Rio  _ should _ leave her now.    
  


But he  _ doesn’t _ . 

Instead, he crouches down next to her, takes an ornament & starts folding it up in crinkly red tissue paper. Rio makes a point to mimic the same care she gives each one, and from the corner of his eyes, he can see a soft smile form on her lips as she pauses and watches him.

He nudges her lightly with his elbow, “Get back to work, ma.”

Rio knows it shouldn’t matter, but it feels good to see her grin. She replies back with her own playful, “Okay, boss.” 

They stay that way for a while. He doesn’t even mind when she starts humming some Christmas songs out of tune.

And it doesn’t mean anything, it’s just a fleeting thought in this quiet moment. But he lets himself wonder if she’s ever had legit tamales before. 

He’ll ask her, maybe. 

**Author's Note:**

> New year, same me who loves a Soft Rio.


End file.
